Wish You Were Dead
by Tench-Sama
Summary: Kuririn is an insurance fraud investigator along with Yamcha. In a wild ride Kuririn is tossed from one woman to another, learns his mother's a major wench, and he's worth a million dollars.
1. It Begins

Wish You Were Dead

Disclaimer: This fic is loosely based on a hilarious comedy Wish You Were Dead. The main plot idea and the Dragonball Z characters belong to their respective owners. TM. R with a circle around it or something like that. Events, ideas, and/or people/characters, that were not forementioned, are ficticious. Any resemblence to actual events, ideas, and/or people/characters is merely coincidental.

She sat at her nightstand looking at her image behind the mirror (Physics). She reached over and grabbed her lipstick and slowly applied it to her lips. She then reached for a piece of a chocolate bar, then broke off a piece and placed it in her mouth. She then spat out a peanut and placed it back on the nightstand. She opened a box and extracted a silver locket and then placed it around her neck. Slowly she pulled on her stockings up to mid thigh. She zipped up her red, spaghetti strapped dress. She grabbed her sunglasses off of her manikin before she exited her hotel room.

She parked her car in front of a rundown restaurant in the rundown town in which she was forced to stay. Being that it was the middle of the night there was a lot of parking space. She exited from the car while she clung to her black purse to her right side, her arm completely around her purse. Entering the restaurant she was greeted with the stares of dozens of men who lounged around the bar. The bartender was wiping a glass in his hand as he, and dozens of others, stared openly at her form.

A fat man in a suit and tie caught her eye in the corner of the restaurant who was sitting at a table with a great deal of clutter lain out on the table along with a single glass of water. Slowly she strode over to his table with her butt swaying from side to side and the other male patrons in the bar hanging off the edge of their seats.

She sat down at the table and crossed her right leg over the other. The fat man quickly, and nervously, took a sip from his glass of water after he fiddled with his tie. She reached up to her face and removed her sunglasses then brought her blonde hair onto her shoulders.

The waiter sauntered over to their table, a smart-ass look on his features that seemed very young for such hours at a bar.

"You sir?" the waiter asked with feigned kindness.

"Nothing for me."

"The diva?" he asked with a sly grin on his face, which was met by a death glare from the "diva."

"Do you have any chocolate?"

"No."

"Then I'll have a Bloody Mary."

"I'll bleed in it personally," he said once again with a sly grin, which was once again met with a death glare.

"Jupiter right?"

She nodded.

"My God you're beautiful," said the fat man who seemingly regained his nerves from nowhere.

She didn't say a word; she just smiled as the fat man returned to mumbling.

"Let me get this straight," he said, his hand on his glass, swirling around the water. "You saw me on T.V. and just wanted to meet me in person?"

"Let's cut the chit chat," she said, finally breaking her silence, her voice extremely sultry, smooth, and inviting.

"I only came here for one reason and one reason only. I came to bang you till your eyes pop out." She ended the sentence with a smile and a wiggling of her eyebrows.

The fat man was stunned, but immediately took the opportunity that jumped into his lap.

"You're not some hooker are you?" he asked as he rose from the table. "Because I don't pay for pussy."

"No," she replied as she stood to gather her things.

"Good. Let's get going," the fat man said as he slapped her ass and exited the establishment. Jupiter followed with a sneer.

They headed for her car without their drinks.

"Woo hoo! We're gonna have some fun!" the fat man yelled as he rode in her car as they headed to the nearest motel.

Pulling into the parking lot Jupiter spared a glance at the fat man who was drunk as the night was dark. She smiled as she parked her car and took out her motel key.

After opening the door the fat man quickly ran through the door and jumped onto the bed. He moved around and ran his hands over his obese body in an abortive attempt to look sexy.

"You want it rough?"

"I've had it rough," she replied coldly.

She made her way to the dresser and placed her bag on the top and looked through her purse.

"What are you looking for hand cuffs?"

He laughed just as she brought out her silenced pistol and trained it to his head.

"What is this some kind of a joke?" he asked while laughing.

Bang! She shot the lamp out.

"Whoa, now. Whoa, now," he said as he stood to meet her gun.

"That was meant for your head," she said, her eyes icy and void of benevolence.

"Now give me the gun, just give me the gun."

"Now why would I do that you stupid small dick, mother fucking, woman hating stupid shit?" she retorted angrily. This guy was dead whether he wanted to believe it or not, and she was the one who was going to do it.

"What are you doin' this for?"

"This, asshole, is for cheating."

"What the hell are you talking about; we just met."

"It's what your wife told me when she hired me."

"You don't want to do this," the fat assed idiot said as he backed himself into bed.

"Just put the gun away and then you can fuck me."

"Fuck you," Juuhachigou said acerbically

Bang!

"Happy Anniversary."


	2. Job Site

Wish You Were Dead

"Yamcha I really want to thank you for letting me tag along," Kuririn said as he fumbled with Yamcha's car radio. "It's been really boring at the office lately, and that's saying something."

"No prob. There's nothing like doing field work." Yamcha looked over at Kuririn who missed the sarcasm in the statement. "So this is your first time in the field huh? Well, gotta start sometime."

"_We interrupt this commercial message to bring you breaking news about Rush Limbaugh, local weatherman. His body was found in small Lake Richard. He died from a bullet wound to the head, which the police claim was fired at close range. He never had a chance. Here we have an account from his wife. "It's really ironic. He has a really small d(beep) and he was found at the bottom of the very small lake Richard." And now we have a word from a fellow co-worker. "Yesterday he said that it might be his last day. It's really sad. In all of the years that he's been doing weather casting, he finally gets one prediction right." There you have it folks, accounts from the people- _click.

"Could the value of human life sink any lower?" Kuririn asked nobody in particular. Just then he could hear Yamcha cursing to his side. Kuririn looked over and saw that he and another driver were exchanging verbal insults and middle fingers.

"Damned fat bastard probably was OD-ing on donuts and drink coffee - FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!" Yamcha had said the last part outside the car window. "That idiot should have been watching where he was going."

"We're nearly there," Kuririn said as he studied at the map carefully. "Take… the next left turn."

Yamcha and Kuririn came to a stop at what looked like the edge of the woods. Directly ahead of them was a very dilapidated doublewide. The once shiny steel surface was now covered in a variety of stains ranging from dog feces to human feces. The windows were laid down in a row in front of the door as a make shift runway. However the thing that really puzzled Kuririn and Yamcha was the fact that the owner of this house was missing a car.

As Kuririn exited Yamcha's car he felt his bladder call out to him.

"Yamcha," Kuririn said. "I have to use the bathroom."

"What do I look like, your mother? Go piss over there by the trees."

"Sorry," Kuririn said as he walked over to the edge of the woods. "I'll just be over here."

As soon as Yamcha was sure Kuririn was out of hearing distance he murmured: "I've got to buy that guy a woman."

Yamcha's gently rapped his knuckles on the door. A few seconds afterwards a man who looked like he was a relic from the 70's stood in the doorway of the home. The man's hair was styled into a traditional mullet, his clothes consisted of a barbeque stained white tee-shirt, a purple bathrobe, and a pair of flip-flops. He held in his right and a bottle of beer and in the other hand he held a universal remote.

"Hello sir. My name is Yamcha," said Yamcha as he procured a pen and clipboard seemingly out of nowhere. "I'm here on behalf of the insurance company. I'm here to ensure that you have indeed had your vehicle stolen –"

"Yamcha!"

Yamcha's head snapped around and searched for his friend, finally spotting him near a conspicuous pile of grass. Yamcha tapped his pen on the top of his clipboard and gave the man who stood in front of him a glance before he made his way to Kuririn.

"What're you yelling about Kuri –?"

Kuririn had grabbed a cloth that was poorly hidden beneath the grass and pulled it back to unveil an orange muscle car that had supposedly been stole three weeks ago by teenage hooligans.

"Good job guys! We've found the car! Now everything can go back to normal."

"I don't think so sir," Kuririn said matter-of-factly. "I'm afraid that we have to report this in –"

The bare fist of the mullet-haired man came barreling towards Krillin and hit him fully in the face and also succeeded in placing him on the floor. With Kuririn on the floor the man straddled him and began pummeling his face with both of his fists.

Yamcha, meanwhile, was busy taking photos of the vehicle for evidence. Occasionally Yamcha would snap a picture of the man beating Kuririn. After about a minute Yamcha finally pulled the man off of Kuririn and hauled Kuririn off to the car. To Yamcha's surprise Kuririn had only a black eye and a split lip to show for the beating.

With Kuririn's arm slung around Yamcha's shoulders Yamcha said: "I'm proud of you Kuririn you got into a fight today, didn't scream or cry. Now all you need is a woman to fuck."

With that said Kuririn's face turned red, which did not go unnoticed to Yamcha.

"…You're not a virgin… are you?"

"No," Kuririn said indignantly as he yanked his arm from around Yamcha's neck and stood next to the car. "I'm not a virgin."

"Are too."

"Are not."

"Well then what is sex like? What does sex smell like?"

"It's like becoming one person. It smells like flow –"

"Wrong! Sex… is _murder_! It smells like blood and sweat," Yamcha said as he gesticulated exaggeratedly. He followed up his hand gestures with a small glare. "You haven't had sex before."

"Shut up," said Kuririn as he entered the car and sat in the passenger's seat.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for you to start the car."

"Get the fuck out and drive that bastard's car will you? You've got to follow up on this case," said Yamcha as he passed Kuririn a manila folder. "I'm going back to the office and shut _this_ case."

"But it's against regulations to touch the car. We're supposed to wait for the tow people to move it to the lot."

"Oh, just shut up and take the car. Here are the keys."

"Okay, but I have a bad feeling about this."

Bulma Briefs, clad in a lime green tube top, pink mini-skirt, and stiletto heels, sat on her semi-tattered sofa in her living room. The walls were covered in a sickly looking brown wall paper making it look like feces were smeared along the walls, minus the smell. The windows were sans blinds or curtains enabling neighbors to look in at a whim. Opting for quicker cleaning Bulma had the carpet replaced with hardwood flooring which looked quite good despite the shit-walls.

"Bra! Are you done breaking that window yet?"

Crash!

Bra stood next to the newly broken window, with her hand wrapped up in an old tee-shirt, in a position that would have clearly told anyone who walked past that she broke the window. She was similarly dressed as her mother, though it seemed more suited to her more than her mother.

"Yeah," said Bra. "I just broke it, now what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go around the house and see anything else that we might have missed and put it down with the rest."

"Geez, we already went through the house three times already," Bra said exasperatedly. "I mean, the only things left are the fridge and the kitchen sink."

"Shut up and do as your mama told you."

Bulma stood up and walked to the window. The claims insurance guy was late and she was getting agitated; she was already on her fifth cigarette. The only view she could see from the kitchen window was the dusty driveway, a lawn that was dry (and just as dusty as the driveway), and a broken-down rusted fence.

Juuhachigou rolled her red convertible up to the stop sign. Her hair was wrapped in a very feminine bandana, to shield her hair from the wind, and a pair of sunglasses. She had just finished dumping the fat-assed cheat into the lake and was making her way back to her place.

_The sun's shining. The grass is growing. And the world was rid of yet another filthy stinking man. Not a bad way to start the day._

Before Juuhachigou took her right turn Kuririn pulled up beside her. He glanced over to the right, did a double-take, and then proceeded to stare dotingly.

"What the fuck are you looking at?"

Kuririn was already making his left turn while he said: "Nothing."

Juuhachigou turned right and hastened to her place.

"Mama, he's here," Bra said.

Bulma rushed to the window to look at who she was about to con.

"Oh my Lord. A BMW," Bulma gasped. Money and its byproduct never got passed her.

"Look at the buns on him. Gimme a slice o' _that_."

"Shh! Shh! He's coming.

"Hello there. You must be from the insurance company."

"Yes ma'am I am. My name is Kuririn. It's very nice to meet you."

"I'm Bulma and this is Bra."

"Shall we get started then?" Kuririn asked as he proceeded to the living room.

"Yes. Well, when we came home last night everything was gone. Those damned bastards took everything."

Kuririn jotted down what she said onto his clipboard. He frowned. "Is this the point of entry?" He pointed to the window with the shattered glass.

The question threw Bulma off guard. She expected that he would be able to come to that conclusion without question. "Yes. That's where those bastards entered into my home and took everything."

"Hmmm. But it looks like it was broken from the inside," Kuririn said as he angled his head to get a better look at just outside the window. "I mean there's no glass on the floor here and it seems as though it's all outside."

Bulma gave Bra a menacing glare to which Bra winced and smiled sheepishly before heading off to her room.

"Those bastards probably threw the glass outside just to try and throw you off." The smile Bulma had just put on would have melted the polar ice caps. "But I know that wouldn't throw you off… handsome." However Kuririn was busy jotting down information on his clipboard and was intent on not making a spelling error to either see her or even hear her.

Fearing the worst Bulma made her way to the kitchen and hoisted herself onto the island counter. Her legs were spread wide enough to notice that she was lacking underwear.

"Mr. Kuririn have you had breakfast? Come in the kitchen. Maybe you'll see something that you'd like to _eat_."

A/N: Unfortunately for you readers I haven't given up on this fic. I've been sitting on half of the second chapter for the longest time. Sorry Anyway I'd appreciate a review, or even a flame. Don't worry I'm wearing a flame retardant vest.


	3. Home Life

Wish You Were Dead

"Was… that… good… for you?" Kuririn said.

Kuririn lay naked on top of the kitchen's island to the right of Bulma. A sheet of sweat glistened on his skin. He let his head fall back and reminisced about the event that just came to pass. Kuririn just had his first sexual experience with a woman who seemingly had plenty to spare. It was not as he had imagined it would be: dozens of candles lit, a seven course dinner, rose petals covering the floor, and a Barry White track playing in the background. Instead it comprised of: a chicken leg in her mouth, burger wrappers covering the floor, and the sound of Bulma screaming "Ohhh, Big Mac!" It would not have been so bad had her daughter, Bra, had not come in to the kitchen to get something to eat and slapped his ass on her way out.

Bulma raised herself to a sitting island, chicken leg in hand.

"Best I've ever had honey," replied Bulma. _Eh. I've had worse._

"Now," started Bulma as she finished her chicken and wiped the grease from her fingers onto Kuririn's phallus. "How about you just certify that all of our stuff is missing?"

Kuririn bolted upward.

"I can't do that," said Kuririn. "I've got to inspect the whole house before I ever commit to certifying anything."

"Aw, come on. I get to claim my things missing and you got to fuck my brains out." As if to put an exclamation point to her statement she took a huge chuck out of a new chicken leg.

"Don't go and mess up the perfect date."

"Yamcha… I think I'm in love," Kuririn said as he absentmindedly bit into his egg salad sandwich.

"Pffft. What the fuck are you talking about?" Soda dripped from Yamcha's chin as he tried to wipe his desk dry.

"I made love to the most beautiful woman, Yamcha. I've never known this kind of love before."

Yamcha gave an incredulous look. Kuririn was staring off into space and stirring the air just a foot to the right of his coffee mug.

"You're just supposed to fuck them, Kuririn. There's no plus side to falling in love."

"Haven't you ever been in love Yamcha?"

"No, but I've been fucking claimers since I started," Yamcha said with a smirk.

Kuririn kept stirring, not listening to a word Yamcha said.

Yamcha sighed and said: If you want my advice you'll just file the claim and forget about that bitch.

Kuririn's dreamy-eyed stare and goofy smile told Yamcha that he just lost his friend to a random pussy.

"What the fuck are you doing? I haven't done anything to you!"

"Being a man is slight enough."

Juuhachigou's smoldering glare was hidden behind her sunglasses. She stood in front of the man clad in a red-leather form-fitting outfit. Her hair was kept from blowing about in the wind with a red baseball cap placed backwards.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" asked the man. He inched away from her but was met with the edge of a cliff. "Please, please. Don't kill me. Don't kill me. I've got a wife and kids."

"They're nice to have when your life is in danger, but you can't find time for them instead you opt for cheap thrills down by the docks?"

Juuhachigou reached inside of her jacket to the left breast-pocket. He closed his eyes, and grit his teeth, awaiting the inevitable: the searing pain of a bullet passing through flesh. He'd only experienced that once before – a pimp shot him when he skipped the check.

When the bullet never came he opened his eyes to find that Juuhachigou had taken out a cigarette and lit it. She blew the smoke in his face and took off her glasses.

"You're not worth the 29 cents it costs to buy another bullet."

Juuhachigou turned to walk back to her car. The man relaxed and let out a breath he didn't know he had held, but wasn't surprised that he had held it. A kick caught him in the sternum and flung him over the edge of the cliff. Juuhachigou's eyes burned heavy with hate. She hoped that he caught a glimpse of her as he fell to his death, a glimpse of his angel of death.

Kuririn waited patiently for Bulma to arrive at the restaurant. Thirty minutes pass. Kuririn stood to greet Bulma.

"What are you doing?" asked Bulma, who was eyeing Kuririn.

"I was just getting up to greet you. It's what people do."

"Oh."

Kuririn and Bulma sat down. Kuririn patted his forehead with a napkin.

The waiter came towards them.

"What'll it be?"

"I'll have the salad," said Kuririn.

"I'll take a Scotch. Neat."

"Got it, bunny food for the geek and a Scotch for the drunk."

"Just get our order jerk," Bulma said. She scowled at the waiter until he was out of view.

"Er, I know that this a little late to be asking, but what is the reason you asked to meet me so soon?" Kuririn asked Bulma as he wrung his hands.

"Kuririn I'm pregnant."

Kuririn's eyebrows shot up and his mouth was slightly agape.

"Are you sure it's mine?"

Bulma became irate. "What kind of woman do you take me for? Do you think I'm some kind of whore who gives it away for free?"

"No, no. I was just surprised that's all. My friend Yamcha has done this sort of thing for years and he's never made someone pregnant. I didn't think that I'd be able to do it on my first try…"

Kuririn looked dreamily at the ceiling. His thoughts drifted to him holding his unborn son or daughter, swinging him/her lovingly around in a field of daisies.

"Hey," Bulma shouted to pull Kuririn from his reverie. "Aren't you going to marry me or are you going to let me raise this child all by myself?"

Kuririn pulled his 'borrowed' BMW into the driveway of his mother's two-story Victorian. His father had passed away when Kuririn was only ten, leaving him with his mother. Though his father was a compassionate, caring, philanthropic person, the same could not have been said for his mother…

"Kuririn," said his mother. She was seated on the front porch swing wearing what looked to be a large yellow moo-moo and smoking a cigarette. "When the hell did you get a car – and why didn't you get me one?"

"'Kaa-chan, I'm only borrowing the car for a little while to help me with field work," said Kuririn. "I didn't buy it."

"Oh." Kuririn's mother returned to taking long drags from her cigarette and swinging on the porch swing.

"Anyway I've got big news. I took a look at my life insurance policy that my company renewed. They made a huge error. Instead of ten thousand dollars I'm insured for one million!"

Kuririn's mother nearly jumped out of her skin. "One million dollars?! I'm still your beneficiary right?"

"That's what I've come to tell you 'Kaa-chan," Kuririn's voice turned solemn. "I've decided to make my fiancé the beneficiary."

A/N: I realize that this is an extremely short chapter. It's about only a third of what chapter three's length was supposed to be, but I wanted to put it up just so I could get back into some sort of groove.


End file.
